Saving the World, One Bandaid at a Time
by humblebees
Summary: "Even after all this time, I still have no idea how it happened..." A young vigilante reflects on the events that led her to become a masked hero- the struggles, the triumphs, and the unbelievably lucky.
1. Dumb Dare

Even after all this time, I still have no idea how it happened. How a first generation immigrant could go from the girl next door to a masked vigilante in one night. At first, it was only a joke, just a late-night dare conceived by caffeinated and sleep-deprived adolescent minds. My best friend Jaida's caffeinated, sleep-deprived mind, to be exact.

"Come on! How hard could it be? The Justice League does it all the time!" had been her slogan.

"Yea, but in case you haven't noticed, we're not the Justice League. We don't have fancy superpowers like Superman or Wonderwoman," was my reasoning. Of course, Jaida would not have been Jaida without her air-tight comeback.

"Neither does Green Arrow, or the Bat family! They all had to have started exactly like us; a couple o' civvies wanting to better the world," she wheedled. "Don't you have any sense of adventure?"

My tone turned sarcastic, a not-so-rare occurrence for myself. "Oh, sure, I can picture it now: Robin and Batgirl are hanging out in Rob's bedroom, just chilling, when Batgirl suddenly leaps up and exclaims, 'Let's put on spandex and intimidate criminals!'" Jaida is quiet, so I continue, "Besides, I thought you just wanted to go up on the roof and try to spot Kid Flash, not save the world."

For a moment I think I've won, but then J turns and gives me a devious Mona Lisa smile. "Emmi, it's my turn to give a dare, right?" She asks the question as though our mini debate had never happened, and my stomach flutters worriedly. It _is_ her turn, having successfully phoned our class's head jock, Seth, and professed her undying love- anonymously, of course –but with her current mindset I fear that she'll make me actually do something in line with her thoughts.

"Yes, it's your turn," my voice is wary, dejected, and now her smile transforms into that of a very satisfied jackal.

"Well, then, I dare you to become a vigilant for the night. A proper vigilante, mind you- you'll need a name, and a costume."

It's just as I thought, maybe even worse, and a groan puffs out of my lips. Jaida and I have been playing Truth or Dare for as long as we've known each other, one long continuous game that has only gotten more complicated with each sleepover. But rules are rules, and if I back out, I have to be Jaida's servant for an entire week, which is a pure nightmare, she always takes full advantage of it. "Fine. Jaida Huyen Pham, I accept your challenge. But… Only if you do it with me."

As I should have figured, Jaida was not put out by her inclusion, instead she was excited.

"Perfect! First, we need to think of a name, so we can match up the outfits." Her brain on overdrive, she mutters random words to herself, "Diva? Cleopatra? Nightingale? Yea! I like the sound of that. From now on, I shall be known as 'Nightingale' to the crime-fighting community. Da-da-da!" She scoops a blanket off my bed and ties around her neck, running in circles so that it billows behind her. Surrendering to her enthusiasm, I jump up too and proclaim,

"And at her side will be her trusty partner, um…."

"Nurse!" Jaida supplies, and collapses, giggling. She knows how much I've always wanted to be a doctor, so her name isn't all that bad of an idea. In principle.

"No, no, that has a terrible ring to it… When you're in pain, you don't call for a nurse, you call for a doctor! I'll be The Doctor!"

And on the night went. Jaida tore apart my closet for the perfect costumes, and they really were great. For her, she used her own leather jacket, an old pair of black leggings, and a ridiculously short black dress that I didn't realize I owned. Her black converse would suffice as footwear, and she added black craft feathers to an old Halloween mask for the 'Nightingale' effect, a name almost certainly chosen for its similarity to Robin, Jaida's future husband by her account. For me, she found a red skirt that I thought had been lost in the wash months ago, white spandex leggings from last year's track season, and a white t-shirt that she made a large '' on the chest with red duct tape.

"It's your insignia," she said, "like how Batman has his bat, and Superman has his 'S' thingy."

I could understand her thinking: it was the symbol of the American Red Cross, the same thing you see all over hospitals and on first aid kits. When people see it, they think medicine, they think help. And if I'm a doctor, well, it makes sense.

To add to the red-white theme, she pulled out some elbow-length red gloves I forgot to hand back to the drama director after the last performance of _Chicago_ , and used a single layer of gauze to obscure my face. It was loosely woven enough that I could see through it easily, and as we stood in front of the mirror, I was unsure whether to laugh or to shiver at the thought of the next step: actually going out catching a bad guy.

That was part of the dare; we had to find someone breaking the law, and stop them. It was also the craziest part, not to mention the most dangerous. Even with Batman and family running around, kicking butt, Gotham's violent crime rate is high, and no one walks around after sundown without a good reason. There's also the curfew to think of: at twelve o'clock all minors are supposed to be inside for the night, so by leaving on our little mission to stop law-breakers, we would be breaking the law as well. Some kids in my position would also be worrying about sneaking out, but with my attic bedroom and deep-sleeping parents, I could have snuck an elephant with a toothache in and out with no trouble.

As I had been thinking, Jaida had been going through my drawers, looking for tools. Lengths of rope came from our secret emergency supply kit, as well as zipties and a can of pepper spray for Jaida. I refused to take weapons, planning to enact the age old defense of fleeing in case of danger, despite Jaida's cajoling. But then, as she busied herself with deciding if she wanted her hair up or down, I opened my extensive first aid kit and pulled a few little syringes pre-filled with heavy pain killer, along with some bandaids and other bandages.

As I had been thinking, Jaida had been busy accumulating a pile of supplies from my drawers.

"Superhero tools!" she gasped, dumping a jumbled assortment onto my bed. There was rope, from our secret emergency kit, and zipties and pepper spray, binoculars and granola bars.

 _It never hurts to be prepared._


	2. Now or Never

"Okay. We're on the roof, outside, and it is freaking _freezing._ What are we doing now?" My voice comes out grumpy, and I hold back a yawn while rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm them.

"Shh. Listen, and we'll be able to hear the people." It's rather disturbing to see my flighty Jaida this intense, so I humor her and close my mouth. Sure enough, if I strained my ears I could begin to hear Gotham's nightlife. Living in the neighborhood that we did, though, meant that the nightlife almost exclusively included a few rowdy cats and a few cars passing through.

"We're going to have to head closer to downtown to have any chance of encountering _anyone_ let alone a criminal," she remarks, and moves to the edge of the roof, "come on, the gap between these buildings is really small, we can jump it- no problem." I follow her over, and stiffen at how high we are. At least three stories, and the neighboring roof is at least a foot higher, maybe even two.

"Oh, yeah, no problem. No problem at all. I mean, it's not like you're talking about jumping _off a roof_. Nah, no big deal," My speech doesn't have quite the effect I was hoping, and Jaida is flying through the air before I'm finished talking.

"Come on, slowpoke!" she shouts at me, and I know I have no choice. One, two, three big steps away from the edge, then one, two, three more. One, two, three deep breaths to steady myself, and I run forward. Silently I countdown: _three, two, one,_ **JUMP!** Using perfect long jump form, I spring up and vault myself over the gap. My feet plant themselves firmly on solid ground, several feet from the gap, and I can breath again.

"Bravo, bravo!" calls Jaida, quietly clapping, and then she grins. "And now, let's catch some action!"

We leap over several more rooftops, running as silently as we can, each jump becoming less nerve-wracking, until we have reached the edge of The Picasso. The Picasso is an area is a very popular place for petty thieves and would-be convenience store robbers; it got its name from vast number of vandalists and graffiti artists that spraypainted all the flat surfaces with some art. Most people don't mind the paint, most of the pictures are actually quite good, but muggings are common. You definitely don't want to be caught in Picasso alone at night.

Jaida is currently distracted by a particular section of wall that seems to someone's practice area. "Ske- skree- skeeler?" she puzzles, trying to decipher the overly stylized letters. "Isn't that the tag of the guy who spraypainted the Obama billboard to make him look like Joker?"

"Maybe," I reply, not really paying attention. I thought I heard voices from the alley below us. "Psst, Jaida, shush! There's people down there!" My urgent stage whisper cuts through her random thoughts, and she scurries over.

"Really? Do you think they're doing anything illegal?" I'm slightly sickened as Jaida treats this new development as though it is free tickets to a concert.

"No one just hangs out in Picasso at midnight, dollophead," I hiss, "Now seriously, shush, I'm trying to hear what they're saying."

 _"Look, buddy, we're not speaking Kryptonian. Turn out your pockets, or we'll turn 'em out for you."_ Whoever this guy is, his voice is raspy- probably from an unhealthy tobacco habit. Silently I dub him the Smoker.

 _"I don't have anything you want- I don't carry cash, nor do I have any jewelry"_ Despite his unfortunate predicament, the victim of what I'm guessing is a mugging sounds articulate, professional. He's not begging, he's not pleading. It's more like he's bored with all of this. Does he seriously not realize that he's not God, that it is possible for him to be seriously hurt by what must seem like scum to him? Surely he doesn't think he can fight his attackers off?

 _"Rich bloke like 'you? I's reckon 'choo got lot's o' whut we want."_ A third person comes into play, another immigrant fresh off the boat from Ireland judging by his thick accent. All in all, a typical stick-up. Living in Gotham, it's no big surprise. If you haven't been mugged at least once, you're either extremely careful, extremely dangerous, or one lucky bastard.

While I've been listening, Jaida has been slowly realizing how serious of a situation we're in. This isn't a game; those are real people, in the middle of a real mugging, and we're in a position to stop. If I had thought that this would scare her off, however, I would have been wrong. Instead, she seems even more determined to help.

"Can you see if they have a gun?" Jaida asked, her voice set and even. "We need to know what we're up against."

Gently tipping my head over the edge, I get my first look at Smoker and his buddy. The vic's face is hidden by shadows, but I can see what the Irish fellow meant by rich- Mr. Hoity Toity had on a crisp suit, and a hand gripped the handle of a fancy briefcase. It all screamed ' _loaded.'_ Smoker was a typical thug: average height, heavy build, dark nondescript clothes. Maybe a bit on the chubby side, but muscular. Old enough to have grown up on these streets, and unlike us, this would not be his first rodeo. Patrick O'Leprachaun was... different. Tall, and kinda stretched out like someone who grew a lot in a short amount of time, and without a whole lot food during the process. Bright red hair peaked out from a baseball cap with bill pulled low.

Appearance, check. Weapons? Smoker was obviously in charge, and a handgun was firmly clutched in his oversized right hand, while the other street thug twirled a stereotypical metal pipe.

"Three guys," I say shortly, "One business guy in the very back, big guy with a gun on the far end, and another guy with a pipe." My entire body is on high alert, tense, and I'm dreading Jaida's next words. Undoubtedly they'll be some sort of brilliantly complicated plan.

"Okay, I'll go down to the street from the other side, and cover the opening to the street. Whoever tries to run first, I'll take them out. You drop down the ladder and get between the thug and their mark. Deal?"

"Deal."

Already things are spiraling out of control, but the word that signs our fate has passed my lips before I've even processed Jaida's words. She doesn't give me a chance to take it back, slipping away in a blink. _Now or never_ I tell myself, but can't help wondering how many others have silently chanted this same mantra before doing the dumbest thing of their life.


	3. Too Close for Comfort

Insanity. Insanity is what this night is, insanity is what I'm wearing, and insanity is what Jaida is, along with a few other choice terms.

I'll have to be quick, anything less will almost definitely get me shot, and the possibility of a broken neck hovers unpleasantly in the background. Just like the first time I leapt from roof to another, I take three deep breaths.

 _One._

 _Two._

 _Three!_

I fling myself off the edge of the building, dropping down two stories like a giant paperweight. The rope anchored to a pipe on the roof does little to slow my progress, and what had in my mind a quick descent in the style of rappelling became closer to low-altitude sky diving.

Terrifying. Another good word to describe this wacked-up night.

At least my aim is more or less accurate. I land between the muggers and the victim, totally and completely freaking them out, seeing as no one ever bothers to look up. It only takes a split second, though for the seasoned big guy to raise his gun towards me. Reflexively, I kick out my leg and catch his wrist. I glance over my shoulder to see where Leprechaun ran off to, and see him clotheslined by Jaida- excuse me, Nightingale -as he tried to make a panicky retreat. That was my first mistake, Smoker taking advantage of my distraction and landing a hard punch to my collarbone.

Shock mixes with the adrenaline in my veins, and pain blossoms. I've never been honest-to-god hit before, never been intentionally hurt, and it takes my breath away. It's worse than when a stray blow gets past my blocks in self-defense class.

My legs crumple beneath me, and I distantly hear shrieks that make me wonder if Leprechaun got an eyeful of pepper spray. Then I'm being lifted, lifted by my collar and slammed into the wall by Smoker.

Something in my mind clicks as I lock eyes with my assailant, and my entire body relaxes before I quickly bring my knee to meet soft stomach. A grunt, and my feet return to earth as the big guys doubles over. I'm not even sure what I'm doing anymore, my body acts on its own, and an elbow crashes down on the exposed back neck. The big guy is completely down, presumably unconscious, and I turn to check on how Mr. Nice Suit is dealing with this latest development.

He should be... right... there... In the corner. The _empty_ corner. As in, the corner devoid of anything but a couple beer cans and a McDonald's wrapper. I guess... he got away? Slipped away during the fighting? My mind is trying to wrap itself around this explanation, when suddenly Jaida screams from the other end of the alley.

"NO!"

Her voice is slightly strangled sounding, and I twist my body around to help her when I see what she sees: half-kneeling, the big thug is laughing wheezily while pointing his reclaimed firearm directly at me. As the whole world slows, I can feel each second pass, and I throw myself to the side as he pulls the trigger, all of it in slow motion. Each of my heartbeats is slow and exaggerated, and I watch the bullet as it speeds by and buries itself into the wall, missing me by much less than acceptable.

Now Jaida is behind Smoker, and in her hands is the pipe that Leprechaun had. Without hesitation, she brings it down as hard as she can across his back, and he drops like a rock.

We stand there, panting, for a minute. Then she holds out her hand and says, "Come on. Let's go home."

I take Jaida's outstretched hand, and she helps me up. "Hang on," I say quickly, "We can't just leave them here like this."

"Duh! Of course you're right. We should tie them up in case they wake up."

"Um, that, and I think you might have given this guy a concussion. Maybe we should make sure we don't need to call an ambulance before we call the police."

Jaida is skeptical, and rather unwilling to offer aid to criminals. Eventually, though, I convince her. "After all, that's what doctors do, isn't it? They help people."

It doesn't take long to tie the two crooks up; it takes even less to do what I can to fix them up. Smoker seems relatively unharmed save for a large goose egg, his thick skull protecting him from the worst of Nightingale's wrath, while Leprechaun receives a brisk wipe-down with a couple sudecon wipes, special towelettes designed specifically for neutralizing pepper spray. After I've done my part, Jaida takes over- rifling through their pockets for any identification.

I'm about to suggest that we go when she snorts in derision. "What is it?" I ask, looking over her shoulder. In her hands are two open wallets.

"I knew I knew that guy," she crows, pushing one of the wallets into my hands. "He's Mrs. Bateson's nephew. I can't believe he's gotten into trouble already, he only just came to town a month ago. Ooh, just wait 'til I make sure he gets a real tellin-"

"No! Are you crazy? We can't tell anyone about tonight! We broke _so_ many laws tonight! If we're lucky, no one will come looking for us, and it can be like this whole night never happened." As I'm talking, I pull Jaida over to the ladder, urging her to move up it so we can leave the way we came.

Laughing, she obliges. "Who's gonna look for us, Em? Those guys? The cops? Batman himself, with the whole Justice League in tow? Why are you so scared, we owned this hero thing!"

"Let's just get out of here, we can talk about it later."


End file.
